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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23482369">A Gentleman's Agreement</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceBee/pseuds/AliceBee'>AliceBee</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Les Misérables (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>BDSM, CBT, D/s, Dubious Consent, First Time, Gags, Handcuffs, Knifeplay, M/M, Montreuil-sur-Mer, Orgasm Denial, surrender, willingly</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 08:14:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,848</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23482369</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceBee/pseuds/AliceBee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>How will Valjean react to Javert's arrival in Montreuil?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Javert/Jean Valjean</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Smut 4 Smut 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Gentleman's Agreement</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwelveLeagues/gifts">TwelveLeagues</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Having introduced himself to <em>Monsieur le Maire</em>, Javert stepped back to observe.  How his quarry reacted in the hours and days that followed would inform Javert’s strategy going forward.</p><p>He had determined that strolling into his factory (<em>his factory</em>!) unannounced would offer the best return and he had not been disappointed.  Valjean’s shock was palpable and Javert had watched it work through him.  That initial jolt of recognition had hit like a bolt of lightening from a clear blue sky.  That reaction, however fleeting and however well disguised, was all Javert needed.  In the seconds that followed, it was clear Valjean understood: a fuse had been lit. </p><p>But he recovered himself well and Javert marked that.  He supposed Valjean had not hidden himself here for so long or risen to so high a rank without developing the ability to think on his feet and to conceal his emotions and intentions.</p><p>For Javert himself, what had been mere investigative suspicion a few days previously had now coalesced into certainty.  He had experienced his own surprise at seeing him so altered.  But he couldn’t disguise those defiant eyes and that sullen mouth.  There was no doubt.  The man before him was Jean Valjean.</p><p>There had been many false leads and dead ends over the long years he had pursued him.  Every single one had been worth it, for each had eventually led him here.  In that moment, when Valjean had looked up and their eyes had met, he had enjoyed a burst of righteous triumph unlike anything he had ever experienced.  Javert had felt a surge of vindication and, for perhaps the first time in his life, he had felt <em>whole</em>.  Somehow, this had completed him.</p><p>However, given the nature of his target and that he had only just arrived in post, Javert acknowledged his position was a delicate one.  Astonishing as it was, Valjean had indeed risen to be Mayor of this town.  With no proof to show, only certainty in the very marrow of his bones, Javert would need all of his patience and guile to bring this man to justice.  The word of a police inspector might be weighty, but the word of a Mayor was more so.  That was the way of things: order flowed from status, title and rank, and from obedience to the rule of law.  Without these things the world would turn to chaos and anarchy.  A strict adherence to the hierarchy was not a choice or a fancy, it was a necessity.  Until Javert was able to engineer his unmasking, this man was Père Madeleine, the Mayor of Montreuil.  Javert would need to hold his tongue, bide his time and swallow down the bile taking his orders would most certainly cause.</p><p>Javert considered what Valjean might do now.  The criminal he had known for nigh on twenty years, that serial escapee, would have fled at the first opportunity.  In case that was still his preferred option, Javert had closed off that avenue.  He instigated a new policy, one ostensibly designed to keep the town’s dignitaries safe and well.  It was, however, also going to keep the Mayor under constant surveillance.  He did not want to worry those important men, he had told his spies, so it was to be kept discrete and at a distance.  As there was very little crime in Montreuil, he had to give his men something to do, did he not?</p><p>When Javert had a week’s worth of reports on <em>Monsieur le Maire,</em> it was clear he had not attempted to run nor did he appear to be making any plans to do so.  His routine appeared unchanged, factory, town hall, hospital, home.  Javert would have expected to see something, some variation or reaction, but to all intents and purposes, it was as if nothing had changed.  According to Javert’s investigations and his conversations with his spies and townsfolk, Madeleine seemed his usual self:  kind, generous, somewhat gauche.  This was vexing.  In the best case, Javert had hoped that his appearance would have panicked Valjean into some critical error.  In the least best case, that the beloved Père Madeleine’s behaviour and demeanour would alter to some noticeable extent and become a cause for gossip and rumour, thereby making Javert’s subsequent accusations far more plausible.</p><p>But he had done nothing.  He had aroused no suspicion or curiosity.  By outward appearances, he appeared unaffected.</p><p>When they had met briefly in the street several days’ later, his greeting was entirely appropriate, if very slightly hurried.  Javert had observed him behave in a similar manner to others though, and only the tiniest flicker in his eyes gave his genuine situation away.  Only by watching his every gesture like a hawk, was Javert able to see the affect his arrival had had.  It was frustrating, even though Javert had not realistically expected to walk into Montreuil and arrest their Mayor within days.  He had done that only in his mind, in many different scenarios, and he knew them for what they were – simple fantasies.  Perhaps because he had not arrested him on sight, Valjean had decided he was going to try and ride this out.  Though he would do everything in his power to engineer an opportunity, Javert was not in a position to force it.  He was dogged and he was patient and he was here for the long haul.  It wasn’t as if he had left the prison hulks and joined the police for any other reason.</p><p>Certainly, it was a profession in which he could distinguish himself, offering all the structure and career progression Javert could desire.  A child of the gutter with feckless, criminal parents either fell into that same existence or cried out for discipline and order.  Javert had dragged himself out of that cesspit and his steadfast pursuit of both Valjean and his own excellence had allowed him to stand tall and proud against a background of depravity and deprivation.  It had taken him years to get to this point.  Whether it was weeks or months or indeed, years more, Javert was clear.  He would have his man.</p><p> </p><p>&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt; &lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;</p><p>
  <em>Six Months Later</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Javert had just removed his dressing gown and spread it over the foot of his bed when a sound made him freeze.</p><p>His rooms were at the top of the house, so there should be no footsteps on the stair, especially at this hour of the night.  Javert's hand fell to his bedside table and he pulled open the drawer.  His large knife lay next to his Bible.  Both had been with him since his days in Toulon.  His fingers closed around the cold metal hilt and he clenched it into his palm, its familiar shape and heft a comfort as much as a defence.  In his nightshirt and slippers, he moved swiftly and silently into the front room.  There he faced the door and waited.</p><p>The footsteps had come to a stop just beyond it.  From their sound, Javert could tell they were those of a male, perhaps six feet tall, with a muscular build.  His heart, already pounding, quickened further at that description and the prospect of whom it fit.</p><p>When the knock came, it was a formal three taps.</p><p>"Who's there?" Javert called out, his voice pitched low.</p><p>There was no immediate reply, just a long, drawn out silence, as if it was a question not straightforwardly answered.  Then a voice, <em>his</em> voice, <em>that </em>voice, broke through the loaded stillness.</p><p>"You know who I am."</p><p>At the sound of that flat, rustic accent, ice flashed through his veins.  Fear was present, yes, but there was the thrill of the hunt too.  That specific thrill, when cornered prey has turned and shaped to fight.</p><p>Imminent victory and ever-present danger danced a tight embrace in Javert's chest.  He unlocked the door and stepped swiftly away.</p><p>“Come in,” Javert said and then waited.</p><p>When Valjean opened the door, Javert was taken aback.  His hair was in disarray. Strands had fallen loose from the tie and they hung in untidy tangles all over his face.  They did not hide the fact, however, that he had clearly been weeping in the very recent past.</p><p>Confused by this display, Javert stood several wary paces away from him, the knife held not to threaten, but to inform.  Valjean stood in the doorway, seemingly reluctant to enter any further, his too-bright eyes on the dagger in Javert’s hand.  The impudence of that assumption irked Javert beyond all measure.  Its use or disuse lay in Valjean’s actions, not in Javert’s hands.  Should Valjean decide to test this, he might be surprised, despite his strength.  He would find an officer of the law well versed in the art of the back-street knife-fight.  They were hard won skills as his life had once depended on them.  A small boy, of slight build, alone on the streets and surviving in the gutter, he’d had to protect himself from men and boys who were larger, stronger and faster every day of his desperate existence.</p><p>“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked, layering on the sarcasm, attempting to smooth over a seething mass of emotions.</p><p>Valjean swallowed, his reddened eyes now burning into Javert’s.  Anguish was carved into every line on his face.</p><p>“You must stop this,” he said, and even though his voice wavered, it was completely firm in its conviction.  It was a most unusual and contradictory thing to witness and Javert had never heard anything quite like it.</p><p>“You are referring to the trial in Arras, I presume?” said Javert.</p><p>He had thrown that particular bomb at Valjean earlier in the evening, at the hospital.</p><p>“I am.”</p><p>Javert had offered his resignation to <em>Monsieur le Maire.  </em>There had been a very real possibility that he could have ended up with no job and in some disgrace, a state of affairs that was unconscionable to him.  Javert could not exactly say why such a risky strategy had persuaded him to put his hard-won position in jeopardy.  He could say, however, with complete confidence, that he had certainly not envisaged <em>this</em> particular outcome. </p><p>Javert scoffed.  “Are you asking me to stop a trial?  To interfere with the rightful execution of the law?”</p><p>“You are to testify, are you not?”</p><p>“What of it?”</p><p>“If you swear the man is Valjean, that is not justice.  That is perjury.”</p><p>“I beg your pardon?” Javert growled slowly, hardly able to believe what he was hearing. </p><p>“Are you willing to perjure yourself?”  Valjean’s manner was deliberate and considered, yet emotional.  “In betrayal of your beloved rule of law?”</p><p>“How dare you lecture <em>me</em> on that?”</p><p>Valjean was regarding him intently.  “Since you seem to have forgotten yourself.”</p><p>Javert was staggered by this affront.  This convict-mayor, this mess of contradictions, had the gall to walk into <em>his</em> rooms, tearful and unkempt, and then begin to lecture him on justice and the law.  What a confounding and frustrating villain!</p><p>“I have forgotten nothing, <em>Monsieur</em>,” Javert snarled back.</p><p>Valjean seemed to consider this.  “Then you did not know it to begin with,” he said, almost sadly.</p><p>“Why have you really come here?” Javert demanded, choosing to ignore Valjean’s inconvenient response.</p><p>“I have told you, to stop the trial, but to implore you to fetch the child.  I have spent hour upon hour, trying to find a way.  Whichever way I turn, I shall fail one of them.  I cannot do both.  You can.”</p><p>Javert could scarcely believe what he was hearing.</p><p>“Why?  Why would I do these things?  A man has been put on trial, it <em>will</em> take place and a judgement will be made.  That you are still harping on about this whore and her child—” Javert found himself exasperated.  “I cannot comprehend it.”</p><p>“I wronged her, Javert.”  Tears were shining in the darkness of his eyes, real torment writ large within them.</p><p>“You are the <em>Mayor</em>,” Javert said, disgusted at both the fact of it and at Valjean’s unfathomable concern.  “At least attempt to show some respect for the role, even as you denigrate it.”</p><p>Valjean, to Javert’s surprise, took that swipe with an almost chastened bow of his head.  “Will you do the things I ask?” he said.</p><p>Javert snorted, amazed at his persistence.  “I say again, why should I?”</p><p>Valjean was silent for a long time and there was a strange look in his eyes.  It was almost as if he was staring himself down, as if he was waiting till the last possible moment to call heads or tails on a spinning forty sous coin.</p><p>After an age, Valjean spoke.  “Because I know what you want.”</p><p>“Do you now?” Javert said and he found his lip was curling like that of a dog, like that of a wolf.</p><p>Dark, wounded, liquid eyes met Javert's.  “I’ve always known.”</p><p>The knife was suddenly heavy in Javert’s hand.  He licked his lips.</p><p>The silence spun out.</p><p>“Call off the trial," Valjean said, "allow the child to be returned to her mother and I’ll do anything you want.”</p><p>Javert took in the vastness of what had just been said.  As Valjean stood before him, he looked… he looked <em>defeated</em> but he was still speaking with authority, as if he was in any position to be giving orders.  What he was offering was baffling and marvellous and galling all at once. </p><p>“Would you confess?” Javert asked, suspicious of this whole situation.</p><p>“Yes."  He looked stricken, but also, somehow stoical.  "If that is what you wanted.”</p><p>“In the town square?”</p><p>He was gratified to see Valjean flinch at that.</p><p>“I would,” he said, having recovered himself.</p><p>Javert, emboldened, gave voice to a question that had haunted his dreams and had leeched into his life.  “Would you submit yourself to me willingly?”</p><p>“Willingly," Valjean replied, without hesitation.  "If it will stop you toying with that man’s life and with that poor woman’s death.”</p><p>Again, Javert found himself astonished by Valjean.  Who was this creature, <em>what</em> was this creature, who in one breath was able to both entice and chastise?  It was time.  It was time to put this incredible offer to the test and find out exactly how willing he really was.</p><p>It was an order he had given on hundreds of occasions, both at incarceration and at release.</p><p>“Strip," Javert barked.</p><p>He was rewarded when he saw fear, real fear, flare in Valjean's eyes.  He’d seen the same thing many, many times before.  It was the fear one saw in grown men’s faces as the bagne gates slammed shut behind them, as all hope snuffed out.  It was intoxicating to see that fear once again dance in Valjean’s eyes.</p><p>"Your word first," he dared to demand.</p><p>Javert felt it like a strike across the face.  How <em>dare</em> this convict question his integrity?</p><p>"Your word," Valjean insisted, "that you will call off this charade in Arras and that the child will be brought to Fantine without delay."</p><p>"You have it," Javert ground out.</p><p>"On both counts?" Valjean pressed.</p><p>"On both."</p><p>Javert saw Valjean nod, but it was a gesture directed inward, as if the guarantee now given was being communicated to some other part of his soul.  There was a pause and then Valjean stepped fully into the room, closed the door behind him and began to undress.  He placed his clothing neatly on a nearby chair.  He was slow but methodical, trying for detachment, Javert thought.  His fate lay in Javert's hands now, so no matter.  This could take seconds or minutes, but very soon Valjean would be naked and his once again.</p><p>The last time he had seen him like this, his prisoner had been covered in grime and sweat, bloody wounds and whip-marks, but the body that had broken rocks in the quarry and that had been broken beneath the lash was just as Javert remembered.  Valjean was still a splendidly muscular specimen, he was still broad and strong and brutal, he was still crying out to be worked on and whipped.  His cock would shame any man and, hanging thick and vulnerable between his powerful thighs, Javert’s eyes were drawn to it time and again.  Any man would feel as such, it was an affront, was it not, for a convict to be so blessed?  This was what Javert told himself as his gaze once again settled at Valjean’s groin.</p><p>“If you move without my permission,” Javert said, “our agreement is void.  Is that understood?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Javert, still holding his knife, moved across the room to where his uniform was hung neatly on pegs.  He took the handcuffs from his belt and his cravat from where it was draped.  It was the colour of the ocean, a stormy grey-green in the new fashion and it was quite lovely.  He took Valjean’s own, a plain cotton one, from the pile of clothes on the chair.  It was old and cheap, but it would be fine for what Javert had in mind.</p><p>“On your knees then,” Javert said, returning to Valjean.</p><p>It was hugely gratifying to watch his body bend once more to an order.  It was especially rewarding having had to take so many from this false mayor, this deceitful convict.  It had been an almost daily outrage.</p><p>When he had knelt, Javert put aside the knife and the cravats and cuffed Valjean’s hands behind his back.  To see his wrists encircled in iron was a triumph, to have him naked and restrained was almost more than Javert could have hoped for.  All that power, all that rage, in chains once again and at Javert’s command.  It was a heady a mix as the finest wine or brandy, and Javert was certain one could become drunk upon it.  He would need to be careful.</p><p>Standing now in front of a cuffed and kneeling Valjean, hobbled by their agreement, Javert reached out and took up a loose strand of his captive’s hair.  It was soft, surprisingly so, and smooth and cool to his touch.  It slipped like silk between his fingers.  Valjean’s body was taut with stress and tension and Javert had barely touched him.  It was remarkable.  Javert took great pleasure in the upset that this intimate, nearly tender act was provoking. </p><p>Hard, heavy muscles sculpted by two decades of hard, heavy work slid beneath Javert’s hands as he ran them down Valjean’s chest.  He felt him shudder beneath his fingertips, chains on his wrists and shackles on his will.  Javert moved around him slowly, taking in every detail of his captive’s body.</p><p>Valjean’s back was rippled with scars and Javert luxuriated over the broken lines and ridges, recalling the brutality of their infliction with a breath that quickened and a deep, familiar pull in his stomach.  He had watched him flogged on many occasions and once, that pleasure had been his to carry out.  To see such a body pulled tight, hanging by its wrists, its muscles straining, arms and shoulders bulging with effort, utterly at the mercy of the lash, it was a fine thing indeed.  The whip would fall for its allotted number.  They might scream, beg, struggle or cry out, or they might not make a sound at all.  Javert had always preferred it when they did.  It had a better effect on the prisoners who were forced to watch.  Valjean’s body was an atlas of that world, drawn in pain and suffering.  He was a monument to it, a monolith carved in dedication to the institution that had imprisoned him, shackled him and punished him.  He was superb.</p><p>Javert took up the sea-spray coloured cravat.  Cool silk, it had been an extravagance he rarely allowed himself.  Standing behind Valjean, he ran it through his fingers before swiftly tying over his captive’s eyes.  Valjean’s reaction, a sharp intake of breath and a twitch of his head, showed Javert that this act had been wholly unexpected.  He smiled a thin, cruel smile as he tied it tightly in place. Then Javert moved to stand in front of him, admiring and amazed by his appearance.  Javert reached around Valjean’s head and brought those loose ends forward, draping them over Valjean’s collarbones.  They hung down over his chest, those long, pretty ribbons, and his prize was crying out to be decorated further.</p><p>Javert took up the silk and tied the ends.  He lifted it higher as he drew the knot tighter, until it was pressed against Valjean’s lips.  Javert pulled on the ends, harder and harder still.  Valjean now had no choice, he had to open his mouth and allow the knot inside.  Javert could feel his breath, quick and hot and punchy, as he tightened the knot cruelly and secured it with a second.  A considerable length of fabric remained.  Javert bundled this into his hand and began to force it in behind the gag, pushing the cool, grey silk deep into Valjean’s mouth.  Holding the back of Valjean’s head, he pressed in further and heard his captive choke.  He did not stop until all of the cloth was crammed inside.  When it was done, he stood back to check his progress so far.  Valjean’s mouth was worrying at the gag.  That it was clearly causing him some distress was immensely gratifying.  It was well worth the sacrifice to see his lying mouth stopped up.</p><p>Javert then took up the cotton cravat.  He levelled the ends and passed them under the centre, thereby creating a simple noose.  When Javert took hold of his cock and balls, Valjean recoiled.  It made no difference to Javert and he slipped the loop of noose over both.  He pulled on the two ends of the fabric and the noose tightened.  Valjean gasped through his gag as the cotton constricted painfully around the base of him.  Satisfied with the tension, Javert began to bind Valjean’s cock ever more tightly, strapping it down onto his balls.  He was winding the cloth in wide, compressing bands, one over the other until he was wholly cocooned and confined.  As Javert tied off the ends, Valjean was panting, the pain of his restriction audible in his every breath.</p><p>Javert’s own cock had begun to harden and was now tenting his nightshirt.  Javert circled his willing victim, devouring the sight before him.  On his knees, restrained as he was and with his cock helplessly bound, Valjean looked magnificent.  Javert grabbed Valjean’s jaw and lifted his head.  Blindfolded and gagged, there was a nervousness to his every reaction that was enticing.  From the way he flinched at each unseen touch, to the catch in each silk-stifled breath, Javert was entranced.</p><p>He took a few moments to reflect.  Not in any of his wildest fantasies had he imagined this.  That Valjean would hand himself over.  That he would offer himself and submit as Javert’s plaything.  It was remarkable and astonishing.  But if Javert’s long and sometimes difficult life had taught him one thing, it was this: one should never, <em>ever</em> pass up an opportunity when one presented itself.</p><p>Javert grasped the chain between the shackles and hauled Valjean’s arms up, dragging him to his feet.  His other hand gripped the back of Valjean’s neck, pushing his head down, whilst at the same time, he pulled his arms up higher.  Bent over, stumbling, cuffed, gagged and blindfolded, Valjean was marched towards Javert’s bed chamber.</p><p> </p><p>&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt; &lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;</p><p> </p><p>Javert forced Valjean over the end of the bed, pushing his face into the covers, still maintaining control by pulling up on the chain between the cuffs.  Javert could not help but admire his broad shoulders, his whip-scarred muscular back and the perfect curve of his arse.  Under this strain, his body looked spectacular, with the firm swell of his muscles visible in relief under the low light of the oil lamps.</p><p>It was warm in the small room, the fire having been lit some while earlier.  Javert was not only hot from the fire but from the rush of blood to his skin and elsewhere.  He pulled off his nightshirt and kicked off his slippers.</p><p>Now as naked as Valjean, he used some of that lamp oil to lubricate himself.  Javert was fully hard and as he approached, he saw Valjean’s hands, chained together in the small of his back, curl into fists.  His whole body screamed with tension, laid out as he was, willingly, for Javert’s enjoyment.</p><p>There was no way Javert could have known, but now that the moment was here, it felt right.  It felt right that he had waited all these years.  It was <em>fitting</em>.</p><p>Javert looked over his prize one last time and then he parted those perfect arse cheeks and pressed the head of his cock against the tightness of Valjean’s hole.  Javert shivered at the shock of it and pushed harder.  His gift moaned and instinctively tried to pull away.  A veteran of nineteen years’ in the prison hulks should not be so shy.  It was he who was the novice, not Valjean.</p><p>Javert grimaced and grabbed Valjean’s waist.  He rolled his own hips forward and up, forcing his way inside, his gasp of effort masking his prisoner’s muffled cry of pain.  His cock slid in part way and he could feel the most wonderful resistance; it was an amazing sensation for Javert, like nothing he had ever felt before.</p><p>He pushed his way in, Valjean so tense and tight around him, Javert shuddered, the minimal lubrication making every nerve sing.  He shoved Valjean hard against the bed, urgently trying to force himself deeper inside as his willing captive tried to cry out.  This was only adding to Javert’s gratification, hearing pain in his every tortured breath, as Javert stretched and pressed and drove into him over and over.</p><p>To own him like this, after so long, after so many humiliations, was incredibly powerful.  Coupled to the fact this was Javert’s first time inside anyone and he was dizzy with the most intense feelings, both physical and emotional.  He was close to being overwhelmed by the onslaught.</p><p>And then he felt Valjean lift his hips.  Javert moaned loudly, unable to hold back the sound, because that shift had let him slide in even deeper.  When he did, Valjean arched beneath him, the sound of his cry subtly different.  His body, held by chains, was now grinding against Javert’s groin.  Entirely inside him now, Javert’s cock was engulfed in alternating waves of Valjean’s anguish and longing.  His captive would tense helplessly as pain rolled through his body, then he would shudder with suppressed desire, engulfing Javert’s aching shaft with surge after surge of pleasure.</p><p>Drawing back to thrust into him, Javert found himself overcome by the sensations and the situation.  He had thought that he would be controlled and measured in such a position, but his strict self-discipline was slipping in the face of this unrivalled provocation of the senses.  He grabbed a fistful of Valjean’s hair and wrenched his head back.  As the gag bit deeper, Javert began to rut into Valjean like an animal, something raw and base taking over.  He was slamming into him, fast and hard and then Valjean’s desperate cries became a roar of agony.  Javert felt a flash of liquid heat burst over his thrusting cock.  It was suddenly so slick, so incredibly slick, he could do nothing in the face of it but fuck him even harder.</p><p>Every violent thrust was a burst of pure pleasure, but he wanted more and he could feel that it was building.  He was out of control as his orgasm swelled.  He was fucking Valjean furiously.  As he came, it was with a violence that had him crying out in ecstasy.  He was slamming into his prisoner with everything he had and he shot his spend deep into Valjean’s naked, shackled body.</p><p>Javert’s body shuddered as the waves of ecstasy began to ebb and he was momentarily lost to himself.  Nothing in his life had prepared him for this.  Leaning heavily against Valjean’s broad, muscular back, panting against his skin, that loss of control was profoundly disorientating.  And yet, he found that unrequited thirst, which had been raging for decades, had been entirely slaked.  He was gratified almost beyond his comprehension. </p><p>When he had recovered his breath, he found he had also returned to himself.  Javert stood and he looked down at himself, as if he was seeing himself for the first time.  He saw that he was smeared with Valjean’s blood.  He felt marvellously languid but that would not do.  The jug on the washstand had been filled ready for the morning, so Javert took a little time to clean himself.  As he did so, he looked over his conquest.  In the lamp light, Valjean’s body shone with sweat and ruby-dark streaks of blood stood out on the skin of his backside and thighs.  Javert took the wet cloth and wiped between Valjean’s legs.  His captive started, shocked by the unexpected action and the sudden cold in such an intimate place.  Javert cleaned him with long, slow strokes, many more than were required as he was enjoying the sensation of Valjean's firm body so vulnerable beneath his hand.  As he did so, the cravat that bound his cock so tightly to his balls became wet and stained with dilute blood.</p><p>Javert dragged Valjean off the bed and shoved him onto the floor.  He pulled the gag out of his mouth and released the soaking wet ribbons of silk.  Javert left them where they fell, hung around his throat and spilling damp streamers down his chest.  Javert’s attention was on his mouth.  Valjean’s lips were raw at the edges and they glistened with saliva.  Javert ran his thumb over that insolent mouth, remembering how hot and moist his tongue had felt when he’d pressed his fingers inside.</p><p>“Tomorrow,” Javert said, caressing his captive’s lips.  “I think I will save <em>this</em> for tomorrow.”</p><p>“Javert,” Valjean pleaded.</p><p>“I have a long, tiring journey to Arras and I will be in need of some relaxation when I arrive home.”</p><p>Valjean turned his head away and Javert let him, smiling at his misery and his shame.  Javert untied the blindfold and removed the gag, draping the length of silk over the bed.</p><p>Valjean blinked in the lamp light.  His eyes, so expressive, so wounded, spoke with an eloquence his mouth was rarely capable of.  Javert looked down at him, sprawled naked against the wall.  With his cock, half-hard and straining against the tightly bound fabric and his hands cuffed behind his back, Javert found he was reluctant to release him.  If to have him here in chains was a dream and to have had him, indeed to have <em>taken</em> him, was a dream come true, it was also true that dreams had to end.</p><p>He knelt in front of Valjean and tried to undo the fabric that bound his cock.  The cotton, wetted when Javert had cleaned Valjean, had swollen slightly, making the already tight knot almost impossible to untie.  As he fruitlessly tried to loosen the knot, Valjean was twisting in pain.</p><p>“Keep still,” Javert snarled.</p><p>But even when Valjean complied, with no little difficulty, there was no progress to be had.  Several minutes passed with no success and Javert had had enough.  There was only one choice.  He strode into the other room and picked up his knife.</p><p>Valjean straightened the second he saw the dagger, flattening himself against the wall, shifting in his restraints.</p><p>“Keep still,” Javert said again, but this time his tone was markedly one of sincere advice.</p><p>Valjean swallowed and nodded, his wide, dark eyes wedded to every movement of the knife.  Javert was not a man who shrank from obligation, but he was not relishing the task in front of him.  One slip, one mistake… the thought of it made Javert’s blood run cold. </p><p>In his left hand, Javert held Valjean’s tightly bandaged cock and balls.  The knot was tied around the front.  Javert licked his lips and pressed the pointed tip of the knife below the knot.  He heard Valjean’s breath quicken, but he was holding deathly still.  Javert felt the fabric resist the blade for a moment, but with a small increase in pressure, it sliced through the cotton in an instant.  The tip of the knife flicked upward, nicking Valjean at the base of his cock.  He cried out, though more in shock than pain, Javert surmised.  The wound was superficial, though it did bleed somewhat more than Javert would have expected.</p><p>Javert unwound the ruined cravat and released him from its grip, using it to staunch the trickle of blood.  The binding had marked him, bruising Valjean to a dusky red as his erection had struggled for release whilst trapped inside.</p><p>Javert enjoyed one last lingering glance at this willing yet shame-filled victim, enjoying his restrained, naked body and how he had marked it, inside and out.</p><p>“Turn around,” Javert ordered and Valjean did as he was told.  He got to his knees and faced the wall.</p><p>Javert fetched the keys and unlocked Valjean’s wrists.  Another set of marks resided there and Javert traced over the reddening indentations.  He felt Valjean shiver and his own skin prickled in response.  Javert lifted Valjean’s hands above his head and then pressed his palms against the wall.  Javert ran his hands over Valjean, down his back, around his ribs, and then down his body until he had his damaged cock in his grasp.  As he played relentlessly with Valjean, teasing him from root to tip, he was rewarded with his low moans of pleasure.  Hot and heavy in his hand, Javert squeezed him hard and then leant his head forward.</p><p>“Tomorrow,” he whispered in Valjean’s ear and then released him.</p><p> </p><p>&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt; &lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;</p><p> </p><p>Valjean got dressed with Javert watching his every move.  It was that familiar humiliation of eyes upon his body.  His old guard was his oppressor once again.</p><p>Valjean’s emotions were like a storm surge.  He was being battered against the shore, dashed against the rocks and then dragged back out to sea, fighting for every breath in the chaos and tumult.</p><p>He had known what Javert wanted, but he had not known it would be like <em>this</em>.  The shame of the pain and pleasure of Javert inside him, iron-hard and huge, was overwhelming.  The way he had been forced open and filled, it had been agonising.  He had no idea it would hurt so much, but by that self-same mark, he had no idea that it would feel so utterly right.</p><p>To be so helpless and to be so wholly possessed had caused some kind of alchemy to occur within him.  He could not comprehend how his shame could have been consumed by his desire.  He only knew that it had.  How, from the moment he decided to submit, Javert’s possession of his body and his mind had spun him away from himself.  He was no-one but Javert’s and he was nothing but a vessel for his pleasure.  To Valjean’s shock, he had found there was peace in this.  In letting go, in giving up, there was peace inside the pain and there was peace beyond the shame.  It had brought together the broken parts of him.  It was a brief glimpse into a world he had never known. </p><p>And beyond the salt-hot sex there was something else between them.  It had always been there, seething in the background, since those blistering days in Toulon.  Javert had singled him out, for what reason, Valjean could not say.  It was a raw, primal thing that words failed and emotions broke apart on.  There it had simmered, repressed and unnamed, until this night.  Until Javert’s machinations and Valjean’s own conscience had forced it into being.  It felt like fate.  When Valjean, hovering in the doorway, finally took that decision, it felt like Providence itself had laid its heavy hand upon his heart.  It did not steady his fear and neither did it calm his racing thoughts.  What it did was give him courage.  He found the courage to step forward into Javert’s rooms, knowing full well that taking that decision would forever change his life.</p><p>Now he was dressed and fully returned to himself, the fire of his shame and his self-loathing resettled themselves in his soul.</p><p>“Tomorrow, then,” Javert said, dressed now himself in his nightshirt, dressing gown and slippers.</p><p>He was regarding Valjean with a cool detachment that was entirely at odds with the excessive passions he had just displayed.  Valjean could hardly meet that gaze.</p><p>“Tomorrow,” he said, the word falling like a stone.  With a curt nod of his head, he slipped out of the room.</p><p> </p><p>It was not yet midnight but it was icy cold.  The wind was cutting through the streets and through Valjean’s thin coat.  With his cravat cut and ruined, he was open at the collar and he may as well have been half-dressed.  If anyone saw him on the long walk back to his home, they would assume one thing.  That their Mayor was slinking home after visiting a prostitute.  Shame enough, but they would never suspect the truth, that it was, in fact, his body that had been pressed into carnal service.</p><p>He shivered and quickened his pace, striding through quiet cobbled streets, praying fervently that no one would see him.  Some kind spirit must have taken pity on him.  He only saw one other person, a drunk, who staggered out of a side street and reeled off down the middle of the road.  He passed by Valjean at some little distance.  Hopefully he was too far gone in wine and spirits to recognise his Mayor.</p><p>On this difficult walk home, for once Valjean was tormented by something other than his shame.  His balls ached for release.  They had been primed over and over by Javert’s unrelenting attention and as Valjean approached his home, this need began to dominate his thoughts.</p><p>Once inside the sanctuary of his home, he swiftly moved to his bed chamber and disrobed.  The chill of the room on his naked body flared against the heat that was building in his groin.</p><p>He sank to his knees beside his bed.  His cock was bruised but he would take himself in hand no matter what.  When he did so there was instant pain, the dull ache spiking into something more severe, as it had when Javert had roughly stroked him.  There was something in the way the two things merged, the way his hand moved over himself in an echo of Javert.  Valjean tightened his grip to better mimic that fusion and his hand became Javert’s hand.</p><p>His fingers grazed the nick at the base of his shaft and he inhaled sharply.  The image of Javert, striding towards him with the knife, burned through Valjean’s memory.  The hot anticipation of its cold, brutal edge pressed so intimately against him made his hand work harder.  The thought of it held there whilst Javert entered him blazed in the white-hot centre of his soul.  Memories and imagination tumbled and merged.  Things that had never been and had once seemed impossible were now held within his grasp.</p><p>He turned his mind to his violation, to how the intense pleasure of it had overcome his pain.  He moaned at the memory of that, of how Javert’s thrusting cock had filled his body with helpless desire, how he had filled him with a deep, animal need he had never thought possible.  Valjean made his hand move faster, sweat standing out on his skin, each hot breath visible for a moment in the still of the air.</p><p>He yearned for the sensation of Javert inside him.  In his mind he wanted both things, Javert inside him and Javert’s hand working him.  With his own hard, calloused hand on his cock, Valjean tried to conjure the feeling of Javert filling him.  He tried to replicate the way his body had throbbed with need around that thick, hard shaft as Javert had ground against some secret, unknown place.</p><p>Breathing hard as the pleasure rushed through him, he couldn’t help but cry out as it peaked.  He had brought himself to the brink and now he tipped over, spilling his release over his hand and onto the edge of the bed.  As he softened against the palm of his hand and his body sank into that brief, sweet looseness, Valjean bowed his head.</p><p>He knew Javert would keep his part of their bargain.  That he was a man of his word was something Valjean knew to his cost. </p><p>He would need strength of a different kind to keep to the path he had chosen.  Valjean closed his eyes and prayed.  <em>Tomorrow</em>.  Javert had breathed the word against his neck.  The memory of it made his skin flicker with heat.  <em>Tomorrow</em>, he had promised back.  Their bargain had been struck, their agreement sealed in blood and sweat and semen.  For good or for ill, for pleasure or for pain, Valjean now knew.  He was bound to Javert for the rest of his days.</p>
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